


Closing the distance

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-07
Updated: 2003-05-07
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Closing the distance

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Closing the distance

### Closing the distance

#### by Claire Dobbin

  

    
    
         Date: Monday, March 17, 2003 4:00 PM
         This is the first part of the story I intended to have ready
         for today. I'm going to post it because I think this is the
         only way to make myself finish it. If you dislike WIP's skip
         this and I'll inform the list when it is proof-read and on
         my site.
    
         Title: Closing the distance
         Author: Claire Dobbin 
         Pairing: Mulder/Krycek
         Rating: NC 17 - continuing relationship
         Notes - A story 'for the day that's in it'.
         The book referred to is 'Twenty Years A-Growing' by Maurice
         O'Sullivan
    

* * *

Closing the Distance  
by Claire Dobbin 
    
    
         From Galway Bay or the Moher cliff top,
         Where the land ends with a sheer drop,
         There are three stepping-stones out of Europe,
         Anchored like hulks on the dim horizon,
         Against the wind and the waves explosion.
         The Aran Islands are all awash,
         Each coastline's furled in the foam's white sash.
    

Although the day was fine, a strong Westerly was blowing and once beyond the protection of the mainland, each dip of the boat into the choppy sea sent a stinging spray of water sweeping across its deck. Mulder zipped his jacket and pulled the collar up as high as it would go. He was alone. Immediately on boarding, the other passengers had headed for the shelter of the small cabin. He could hear their voices and laughter through the open window behind him. Contrary as ever, he moved further forward towards the prow, stepping up on a gear locker just as the boat made a spectacular lurch downward. It took all his strength, but he kept his feet, and when it rose again to crest the wave, he saw the island for the first time. 

It floated on the horizon, a thin strip of green and purple hills edged in yellow sand, caught between the white-capped blue of the ocean and the cloudless blue of the sky. 

An unlikely hiding place for the man he'd come to find, but the triple checked trail of evidence had proven solid. Alex was there all right, on that tiny dot of land, ignoring all attempts to contact him, forcing Mulder to make the journey to him. 

The queasy feeling in Mulder's stomach had nothing to do with the rolling of the boat. It had everything to do with the uneasy past he and Alex shared, and with his turning up, uninvited, on the man's doorstep. 

They'd parted two years before, on bad terms, when the downfall of the Syndicate set their feet on different paths. Mulder's need to find his sister and to know the truth of what was out there was undiminished, but Alex wanted no part of either. He'd had a bellyful of intrigue and living on the edge. All he craved was peace of mind and obscurity, and if giving up Mulder was the price of that, he'd shown himself ready to pay it. 

It had taken two years but Mulder had eventually found his answers, and, after a fashion, his own peace of mind. All that remained was to make peace with Alex, if it wasn't too late. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," the captain's voice poured reed-like from the tinny loudspeaker, "unfortunately we're not going to be able to dock at the harbour at Innisclair due to the swell, but one of the lads is going to bring a boat out to meet us and he'll bring you ashore. Thank you for travelling with us aboard the 'Clairdubh'" 

Mulder knew that the announcement had been for his benefit. Everyone else onboard the boat was local, all native Gaelic speakers from Ireland's most westerly island. The captain spoke again, this time in his own, familiar tongue, while Mulder watched a smaller craft battle its way towards them. 

"Is that going to be able to take all of us?" he asked the hand who'd come to lower the rope ladder over the side. 

The man glanced out at the bobbing powerboat. 

"You could fit a ceili band in Thady's boat, sir, and have room left over. The five of ye will be rattling around in it." 

Mulder nodded his thanks and shouldered his duffel as he took his place by the ladder. 

Ten minutes later, Mulder and three of the other passengers were seated below watching up as the fifth member of the party, an ancient gnome of a man, was roped up and lifted over the side of the heaving boat. He dangled in mid-air for a few moments before taking hold of the ladder and beginning the climb down. When he reached the bottom the skipper took a firm hold of him, untied the ropes, guided him to a seat and Mulder breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. 

"Go raibh maith agat, Thady," the captain of the 'Clairdubh' called down. "Slan agus beannacht." 

"Slan go foil!" Thady waved up at him and seated himself at the tiller. Under his hand the fragile craft swung away from the bigger boat and headed for the island. 

"Cad e mar ata tu, Daidi?" he asked, looking over at the old man. 

"Go maith, Thady," he answered, "but remember, we have a guest among us." He turned his attention to Mulder. "You're from America?" he asked. 

"Yes," Mulder lifted his voice about the sound of the engine and the wind, "from Massachuestts." 

"Massachuestts? I have a sister myself, in Boston," the old man became even more animated. "Do you know the Mahers?" 

Nonplussed, Mulder wasn't sure how to respond. 

"Well...I've lived in Washington for a long time..." 

"Now Da," the skipper scolded, "stop teasing the man." 

He smiled over at Mulder. 

"What brings you to the island, Mr...?" he asked, holding out his hand. 

"The name's Mulder." He reached out to shake the offered hand. 

"I'm Thady O'Sharcaigh, and this is my father Hugh." 

The old man grinned at him, revealing in all its glory his one remaining tooth. They shook hands. 

Mulder nodded up at the island. "I'd seen this place on the internet and I needed a break from the city..." 

"That I can understand," the old man interrupted, "aren't I just back from Dublin myself. My grand-daughter Aine is at Trinity College and she had me over to see all the sights." 

Mulder watched the small man expand with pride. 

"So, how did you like Dublin, Da?" Thady asked. 

"Well, Trinity was very grand. I could feel the learning pouring off the walls of the place. And as for 'The Book of Kells'," he raised his hand to the sky and said reverently, "that's the hand of God among us." 

"I've seen it," Mulder agreed. "It's very beautiful." 

"As for the rest of it," Hugh O'Sharcaigh continued in a dismissive tone, "well, I never in all my days saw gathered together in one place so many things I could do without." 

Everyone but Thady hid their laughter. 

"Never mind your guffawing, Thady, I'm anxious for my own hearth. Take me home." 

The skipper opened the throttle and boat covered the remaining distance in a few short minutes. The island that had seemed so tiny now filled the horizon. Directly ahead was the harbour with its stone quay and five fishing boats. Around it lay a cluster of pastel painted houses, known collectively as 'An Baile Mhor', the Big Town. Beyond the town the land was carved up into a patchwork of fields, their edges bounded by a tracery of grey stone ditches. Barley, gleaming gold in the sun, filled some of the fields but most were dotted white with sheep and here and there between them an isolated farmhouse could be seen. 

Thady gently guided the boat into its mooring alongside the quay and helped the passengers to disembark up the rusting metal ladder bolted to the stonework. Mulder eased his way through the gaggle of excited people at the edge of the quay, all exchanging greetings and welcomes and found himself a quiet place to set down his duffel. Now that he was out of the roar of the Atlantic and standing on the sheltered leeside of the island he could feel the heat still present in the early September sun. He peeled off his jacket and tucked it between the handles of his duffel. From the back pocket of his jeans he took out the map of the island he'd printed off the 'net and oriented it correctly. 

He was going to have to walk to the hostel. There were no cars on the island; there was no need of them. It was possible to walk the looping road that circumnavigated it in a morning. He ran his finger along the road that would take him to the hostel, then shouldered his duffel and set out. He'd been on his way about five minutes when he heard the sound of an engine behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he watched as Thady pulled the quad up alongside him and matched his pace. Hugh O'Sharcaigh sat happily humming in the trailer behind. 

"Where are you for?" he asked. 

"I'm going to 'Teach Jimmy's.' 

"'Teach Jimmy's is it?" Thady said, correcting Mulder's mispronunciation, and sounding a little surprised. 

"Yeah, I'm on the right road, aren't I?" Mulder checked. 

"You are, and I can give you a lift. It's not far out of my way." 

"I'd appreciate that," Mulder told him, hopping into the trailer to join Hugh. "I've been travelling for two days." 

"It's no trouble." 

The vehicle laboured its way up the steep hill and teetered for a moment on the top. Looking down, Mulder drew in a surprised breath as he gazed along the expanse of the windward side of the island. It was totally deserted and for good reason. At first he saw only the lunar like slabs of grey limestone pavement that ran from one end of the island to the other but then he noticed the huge white and grey boulders left behind by a retreating glacier in the last Ice Age. They rose up, here and there, from the bare rock like the tombstones of giants and around them the wind swirled and whistled. Far below, the shoreline was sculpted into a dozen sandy bays, each separated from the next by an outcropping rock, and against it all, the relentless ocean pounded, whipping itself to a foaming frenzy. 

"That's 'Teach Jimmy's'," Thady said, pointing down to the single clump of trees that marred the bare symmetry of the land. 

Mulder could see a flash of white paint through their wind blown, stunted branches. They trundled slowly down the slope and Thady brought the quad to a halt at the end of the lane leading to the hostel. 

"Well, thanks for everything, Mr. O'Sharcaigh," Mulder said, climbing out of the trailer. 

"Ta failte romhat," the man replied. 

Mulder nodded and grabbed his bag, shaking the old man's hand again. He walked up the path to the hostel. It looked just like the picture on the website, but as he got closer Mulder became uneasy. There was no sign of life about it and the front door was locked. He walked to the rear. The back door was also locked and a glance in at the dusty window revealed an interior closed up for the winter. 

A wave of exhaustion swept over Mulder, but he straightened up and made his way back down the path to the narrow road. Thady stood there, leaning back against the quad, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting, while his father tried to light his pipe in the face of the Atlantic gale. Mulder's exhaustion was overtaken by his irritation. 

"It's closed," he said flatly, pointing back towards the hostel. 

"It is," Thady agreed. "The 'foot and mouth' has the tourism destroyed. But Jimmy's going to try again next year." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mulder asked, exasperated. 

"It isn't for me to tell a man his business," he said calmly. "You'll come home with us so." 

He reached out and took the duffel from Mulder's hand, and Mulder meekly climbed into the trailer again and took his place beside Hugh O'Sharcaigh. 

* * *

There were two houses on the O'Sharcaigh smallholding. The larger was a recently built, single storied main house, with picture windows and a fresh coat of lemon paint. It had a lawn and flowerbeds that looked like they'd been lifted out of an issue of 'Home and Garden' by some magical hand and placed unhappily among the natural disorder of the island's landscape. The other was the original family cottage, tiny and whitewashed, its only decoration a twist of thorny climbing rose that snaked up from behind the rain barrel to fall in profusion over the tops of the windows and door. Between them, a walled in patch of potato plants swayed gently under the weight of their white flower heads and behind it, what was left of the previous summer's harvest of turf was piled high in a little brown hill. 

"Granda, Granda!" A pair of children came tumbling out from behind the house and scrambled into the trailer before either Mulder or Hugh could climb down. 

"Easy, the pair of ye," Thady called out. "Help Granda climb down." 

A smallish woman with bright blue eyes and dark, silver streaked hair had followed the children down the path. She drew the old man into an embrace. 

"Failte abhaile, Daidi," she told him. 

"It's good to be home, Brid." 

"This is Mr. Mulder, Brid," Thady said. "He came over to the island thinking he could stay at the hostel, so he'll be wanting a place with us." 

"You're welcome, Mr. Mulder." She offered her hand. 

"Thank you, it's very good of you to put me up," he answered. 

Within half an hour Mulder was settled into a bedroom in the main house, where he stretched out on the bed intending to take a five-minute catnap. Four hours later he stirred to find the room filled with the red glow of sunset. A comforter had been placed over him and his boots rested neatly on the floor by the bed. He was annoyed with himself and pushed out off the bed just as a tap came to the door. 

"Mr. Mulder?" It was Brid's voice. 

He opened the door. 

"I'll be putting the dinner on the table in ten minutes," she told him. 

"Thank you. I'm sorry I fell asleep..." he began. 

"You needed it. Now, the bathroom is next door. I'll see you in a little while." 

He got his washbag and some fresh clothes and went to shower and shave. Feeling refreshed he took his place at the table, where he ate his first family dinner in...probably a decade. Afterward he helped with the dishes and returned with Brid from the kitchen to find all the chairs in the room gathered around the fireplace in a semi-circle. Some new faces had joined the company. 

"This is Enda and Cait Mac Suibhne," Thady said. "And beyond is Tomas O Domhnaill." 

They exchanged greetings and Mulder took a seat in the only place remaining, the chair closest to the fire. He looked around the circle of expectant faces. It was unnerving. Around the good meal he'd just eaten his stomach fluttered. But then from the pages of a long ago sociology textbook a memory surfaced. 

'In isolated, rural communities the stranger is made welcome, fed and housed and in return he is expected to provide the evening's entertainment, bringing news of the outside world and tales carried from other places. This is especially true of cultures that have the 'oral tradition' of professional story-tellers, for example, Ireland...' 

Mulder smiled. In another time this may well have been his calling. He began to weave a tale of magic and monsters. 

It was long into the night before his appreciative audience was satisfied. Once the children had gone to bed the stories took on a darker tone, and he could tell from the intense expressions on the faces of those around him that they believed every word. He was reminded of the Native Americans he'd met and worked with. Like them, these people had sucked in a love and respect for the fantastical with their mother's milk. The canon of Celtic folklore was filled with mythical beasts and strange happenings. It had travelled westward with the Celts when they swarmed out of the European heartland, leaving the steppes of Russia and... 

Alex. 

Mulder's heart tripped. Alex was here, somewhere close by. 

Why am I not with him? he asked himself. 

Because you're afraid he no longer needs you, came the answer. And if that's so how will you to face - 

"You'll have dinner with us of an evening, Mr. Mulder, before you leave?" Cait Gallagher asked, interrupting his thoughts. 

"I'd like that," he answered, and smiled to see the woman bless herself three times from the holy water font before taking a tight hold of her husband's hand at the door. 

"Good night," he called after them as they switched on their torches for the walk home. 

"You've a gift with the words, Mr. Mulder," Thady told him, putting the furniture back in place. "I just wish I could have your stories 'as Gaelige'." 

"We've tired you out," Brid said. "Breakfast will be ready when you are." 

"Thank you," he said, his voice sounding raspy. "Good night." 

To his great relief, sleep was waiting for him the moment he lay his head on the pillow. 

* * *

He felt hung over the next morning, a combination of the couple of glasses of good 'usice beatha' he'd drunk the night before and jetlag catching up with him. He struggled out of bed about nine o'clock and trailed into the bathroom. When he emerged, feeling more human he followed the smell of percolating coffee to the kitchen. Brid lifted the pot from the Stanley range and filled a cup for him. 

"Thanks," he murmured, watching her return to her baking. 

She scooped a lump of dough out of the bowl and made it into a thick circle shape on the floured baking board. She quartered it and found a space for each piece among those already cooking on a griddle. 

"You've come to see Alex," she said, not turning round. 

He barely avoided choking on his coffee. 

"How do you know...?" 

"We've had no more than a handful of tourists this summer. And they never come in September any year." 

She lifted two pieces of cooked bread off the griddle with a spatula and placed them on the plate in front of Mulder. Sitting down she pushed the butter dish towards him. 

"You're no tourist. Besides Alex let the name Mulder slip one day." She smiled widely at him. "You know, he had the same look on his face that you do now." 

She stood up and returned to the baking bowl. 

"Eat your breakfast. It's soda cake. It's good. Alex loves it. I'm going to make you a couple of farls to take with you when you go see him. You wouldn't want to go empty handed now would you?" 

Mulder shook his head and bit into the slice of hot, buttery bread as he was bid. 

* * *

He couldn't find Alex's house. Retracing his steps a good part of the way he tried again, thinking he must have missed the turning. The crumbly asphalt road led him back to the same grassy hillock where it ended abruptly, as before. This time he continued walking, following the contour of the mound. In front of it the land fell away gently towards a sandy cove and the sea. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the warm sun, breathing the salty air deeply into his lungs. A gull's harsh cry sounded and he opened his eyes to follow its circling glide path. 

Still looking upward, he was lucky not to fall when he stumbled across the paving stones. They were rough-hewn slabs of grey native limestone, set directly into the wiry grass and running from the beach to the mound. He followed them up the slope. At the top the path broadened out and he could see an opening. Three steps up brought him through the gap into a courtyard at the heart of the mound, around which Alex's house curved, womb-like in structure and dug into the earth itself. 

Mulder smiled, so no traditional cottage for Alex. The profiler in him wasn't surprised with the discovery. There was a well-established Krycek predilection for underground structures. He could understand the attraction of a bunker like this: safe, secure, organic, invisible even from the sea. Just the kind of environment a fear based personality type would create for... 

He halted the thought process. He had never profiled Alex. He never would. 

He turned his attention back to the house. Even if the concept did not appeal to him he had to admire the simple, clean design of the building. It wasn't at all dark or dank as he might have expected. The south-facing courtyard gathered in the light and the heat like a lens. He could feel the warmth radiating up of the grey stone paving, while through the narrow entrance a breeze circulated, bringing with it the fresh, ozone perfume of the sea. 

In the centre of the courtyard was a huge grey slab of hollowed-out limestone. Filled with peaty soil, it was planted with heathers and alpines. On its edge rested an empty coffee mug, and beside it was a jacket, that had been left discarded when the sun had cleared away the early morning mist. 

Mulder put the basket of bread down and lifted the woollen jacket. He recognised it. It was his. It was one of two things that had gone missing the day Alex packed up and left the apartment. He brought it to his face and breathed in the scent it carried. Every nerve ending in his body reacted to it and he could feel and taste, as well as smell his lover. 

He carried it with him towards the front door of the house. It was open, but he didn't go in. Looking through it and the large windows that flanked it either side he got a good look at the interior. One long room filled the space but it was subtly divided up into smaller areas according to use. The kitchen was in the centre. Its stripped oak cabinets surrounded a big Stanley range and were topped with the same dark grey slate that covered the floor of the entire room. To the left was a dining area containing an oaken table and chairs and a large matching dresser. To the right was the living area, where two black leather couches faced each other before a big open fireplace. Behind them in a recessed corner was a fitted study, complete with state of the art sound and computer systems. 

The only thing that jarred with the sparse order of the place were the numerous piles of books that lay stacked up, here and there, as though awaiting their final disposition. 

Mulder returned the jacket to its place and climbed up onto the roof of the building. He walked along its curved length, avoiding the translucent glass skylights that allowed light into other, unseen rooms of the house. In the very middle he sat down to enjoy the spectacular view. To the east across the island sound was the mainland with its cliff edge, to the west was the open Atlantic, restless as always. The crash of the waves and the cries of the gulls were the only sounds to be heard and he began to understand the attraction the place held for Alex. 

* * *

It was well past noon when Alex returned. He walked into the courtyard carrying a shotgun and a brace of rabbits. He saw Mulder immediately and froze in position for several seconds. Then he leaned back against the outer wall of the mound looking winded, his eyes closing. 

"Hello Alex," Mulder said. 

Krycek opened his eyes and turned his head to look over at him. He didn't reply. Instead he pushed away from the wall and walked across the courtyard towards Mulder. He was dressed in an open necked shirt, slim fitting jeans and brown suede mountain boots. His skin was tan and glowing against the white of the shirt. He moved with familiar grace, but the tension of a man permanently looking over his shoulder was gone. It was replaced with an ease that was reflected in his face. The quiet life had even given him back something of the boyish looks and physique of the eager Agent Krycek, though his hair lacked any particular style and curled loosely almost to his shirt collar. 

The haggard look he'd worn during the final days of the Consortium was completely gone. 

He stopped in front of Mulder and fixed him with an intense stare, before relenting enough to allow the corners of his mouth to quirk up into a half smile. 

"Still don't know how to take no for an answer, huh Mulder?" 

"You didn't say no." 

"I thought the fact that I ignored all five hundred of your emails implied that the answer was no." 

"Actually, in law, the maxim is 'qui tacet consentire' - 'silence gives consent'." 

Krycek became serious and there was an angry edge to his answer. 

"Since when have you needed justification for anything you want to do Mulder?" 

He turned away sharply and strode into the house, but the door he left wide open. 

Mulder looked over at it and, though the words hurt, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He smiled. It was going to be all right. Why had he ever doubted? What they shared was nothing less than a force of nature. Ingrained behaviour patterns and sheer bloody-mindedness might demand they make each other jump through a few hoops, but some time soon their beautifully dysfunctional relationship would resume its inevitable course. 

He followed Krycek in and watched the man hang the rabbits from a hook set in the gable end of the kitchen cabinets. He opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles of Stella Artois. Placing them on the counter he twisted off the caps and slid one towards Mulder. 

Mulder took his beer and sat on one of the high stools beside the butcher's block. They both drank deeply, then the bottles clinked down on the slate worktop and there was silence. 

Mulder was never as good with silences as Krycek. 

"Alex, I need you to understand why I couldn't let it go...I - " 

"Jesus Mulder, give me some credit. Do you really think I didn't understand?" 

Mulder could have kicked himself. He tried to put the right words together but Krycek was continuing. 

"I didn't expect you to chose me. I know you didn't have that luxury. Neither did I. I had to get out...or go under." 

Mulder nodded. "I know...I understood too." He looked up at his beautiful lover. "It's good to find you so well...so whole." 

The hurt left Alex's face and was replaced with the soft expression that had haunted Mulder's dreams for two years. The close reality of it drove the breath out of his lungs. Heart hammering, he reached out to touch, his hand cupping Alex's cheek and jaw. Krycek's eyes closed blissfully and he turned into the embrace, his lips nuzzling Mulder's palm. 

"Alex..." he murmured when breathing returned, "...God...I've missed you..." 

Alex's eyes opened and his mouth stilled. Mulder could feel the mental as well as physical withdrawal. It was too soon; there were fences to be mended. 

He pulled his hand away slowly and picked up his beer. Alex cleared his throat noisily. 

"I don't need to ask how it's been with you. You look like hell." 

"Well, thanks for that Alex." Mulder snorted. "I see island life hasn't improved your people skills any." 

"Don't get much chance to practice them." 

He retrieved the rabbits and placed them on the counter. With a lethally sharp hunter's knife he began to skin them. 

"Though I can see you've kept other skills pretty sharp." 

Alex's hand froze mid movement and Mulder wondered to himself what the chances would be that if he opened his big mouth really wide he could fit both feet in at the same time. 

"Is that dinner?" he asked before his words could sour the mood. 

Alex let it go and resumed his task. 

"It's my dinner, yeah," he answered coolly. 

"I'd say there's enough for two there." 

"Partial to rabbit are you, Mulder?" Alex asked sceptically as he removed the heads. "I wouldn't have thought it'd be all that popular on tables at The Cape." 

Mulder ignored the gibe and made himself watch. Autopsies were one thing, seeing your dinner beheaded was quite another. 

"Actually I am," he said as nonchalantly as he could manage. "It was quite chic there for a while in the mid nineties. But it would have been served en croute with a mustard sauce." 

Alex chuckled and any unease vanished. 

"Stewed, with carrots and onions and spuds, is dish of the day here." 

"Sounds good," Mulder told him enthusiastically, but when Alex began cleaning out the carcases he lifted his beer and moved away. 

"Okay if I look around?" 

"Sure, go ahead." 

He wandered around, finally settling before the PC on the study desk where he found the second thing that had gone missing from his apartment the day Alex left. The framed photo of them laughing together over something so trivial he couldn't remember it. Scully had snapped it using the evidence camera. Seeing it again made him realise why Alex had taken it with him. 

"I'd like to check my email," he called back towards the kitchen. 

"Whatever..." 

He sat down and logged onto his account. The speed of the system surprised him and he wondered what technologies Alex was using to maintain broadband contact out of this remote location. The only email of value was from Scully and he spent some time replying to it. The rest he deleted. Alex was still busy in the kitchen and Mulder shamelessly took the opportunity to check his host's Internet bookmarks. In a folder named 'Dating Games' he found a list of porn sites running through the alphabet from 'Boy Crazy' to 'Ready to Rock and Roll'. He was intimately acquainted with a number of them. It was comforting to know that Alex's appetite was undiminished. His own libido had given him, and his bank balance, a lot of grief since the two of them had split up. 

The oven door of the range slammed closed firmly and Mulder guiltily closed down the browser and went back to the kitchen. He sat down and watched Alex wipe up the mess from the counter top. 

"You need any help?" 

"Well, it seems your timing's still perfect." 

Mulder grinned up at him. 

"Did you come in on the Clardubh yesterday?" 

"Yeah. It was quite a ride." 

"Where are you staying?" 

"The O'Sharcaigh's..." Mulder got up. "...which reminds me." 

He went out to get the forgotten basket of bread Brid had given him. 

"Brid sent these. Says they're sodas." 

Alex's face lit up and he took the basket eagerly. He lifted out the floury bread and placed two of the farls on the breadboard. 

"You hungry?" he asked, putting the kettle on the range to boil. 

"Sure." 

He watched Alex slice the sodas in half, butter them and place a thick slice of ham on each one, before putting the tops back on to make two chunky sandwiches. Sliding them onto plates, he lifted the whistling kettle off the hob and made a pot of tea, which he placed back on the heat where it spat and hissed as it drew. 

"They don't taste right with coffee," he explained to a doubting Mulder. "Just try it." 

Reluctantly Mulder did. And he had to agree that the strong, sweet tea, quite unlike any he'd tasted before, did compliment the bread better than the coffee he'd drank that morning. 

"Did you build the house?" he asked, between satisfying mouthfuls. 

"Yeah, do you like it?" 

"It's very impressive." 

"State of the art, environmentally. It would win awards if I'd let them publicise it." 

"Who designed it?" 

"Thady's oldest son, Fiontan, is an architect. This was the kind of project he's been itching to do for a couple of years. Waived his fee, and put up with my interference, he wanted it so much." 

He laughed aloud. Mulder looked at him quizzically. 

"Thady is embarrassed by it. Doesn't like me telling anyone who designed it. Says, 'Sure it isn't a house at all, it's a badgers' sett.'. 

Mulder smiled. 

"You've settled well here, Alex," he said, keeping the jealousy he felt for the place out of his voice. "What made you choose it?" 

Alex shrugged. "Just chance. I took the first flight I could get a booking on out of the States. It had a stop over at Shannon. Somehow the connecting options didn't appeal, so I left the airport and hitched a ride with some tourists. They were coming here and I tagged along. It's not like I had any other plans." He looked over at Mulder. "It's home, Fox." 

There didn't seem to be anything more to say and together they gathered up the dishes and washed them. 

Putting the last of them away, Alex said, "There's a few things I need to check on. I won't be long." 

Mulder watched him leave before getting comfortable in one of the leather couches. He picked up the book on the top of the pile beside it. It was entitled 'Twenty Years A-Growing." He opened it and began to read. 

'...I am a boy who was born and bred in the Great Blasket, a small truly Gaelic island which lies north-west of the coast of Kerry, where the storms of the sky and the wild sea beat without ceasing from end to end of the year and from generation to generation against the wrinkled rocks which stand above the waves that wash in and out of the coves where the seals make their home...' 

* * *

The lamps were on when he woke up and Alex sat on the couch opposite watching him. 

"Feels like home, huh, Fox?" he asked as Mulder struggled upright through the fog of sleep. 

"What is with this place?" he mumbled. "It's like I've developed sleeping sickness." 

"The locals say it's 'the strong air' whatever that means. But I think that it's more to do with the fact that you're bone tired." 

He brought Mulder a glass of water and watched him drink it all. 

"I was too when I arrived. I rented the O'Sharcaigh cottage and spent the first three weeks in it sleeping. Why don't you go wash up? Dinner's almost ready." 

Mulder checked his watch. It confirmed what his stomach was telling him, it was well after eight o'clock. When he returned from the bathroom Alex called him to the table and began ladling out the piping hot stew. The smell made his mouth water and it tasted delicious. They ate in silence, but it was a comfortable, non-threatening silence and afterwards they carried mugs of coffee back to the couches. 

Mulder settled himself on the other end of the one Alex chose and began to sip his coffee. 

"So what do you do with yourself?" he asked. "Apart from building cutting edge houses and keeping the rabbit population under control." 

"I run the e-business side of the local fishing co-operative," Alex answered, matter-of-factly. 

"Is there any money in that?" 

"Do you have any idea how much a kilo of wild Atlantic salmon is fetching in Paris restaurants these days, Mulder?" 

Mulder shook his head. 

"A lot," Alex said smugly. He sorted through the papers on the end table and found a copy of the company brochure. He held it out towards Mulder who slid along the smooth leather of the couch to take it. 

"Looks like a very professional operation," Mulder commented with feigned interest as he flicked through the glossy pages. He tucked one leg up under him and the movement brought him into contact with Alex's body from knee to shoulder. 

Alex rolled his eyes disbelievingly but made no move to disengage him. 

"So how much does a kilo of wild Atlantic salmon fetch in a Paris restaurant these days?" Mulder asked undeterred. Sensing that the time had come, he drained his coffee mug and leaned across Alex to place it on the end table, pinning him against the arm of the couch in the process. He didn't pull back; instead he went for the sexiest pout in his repertoire and turned his heavy lidded gaze on Alex's parted lips. 

His judgement was completely vindicated when Alex answered croakily, "Who the fuck cares." And surged forward to take back control. 

They struggled against each other until Mulder went for a strategic submission that brought Alex down heavily on top of him, in exactly the right position, with mouths, nipples and groins all perfectly aligned. But, to his disbelief, Alex didn't react as he usually did when on top. Sure there was some grinding and moaning and enough necking to get Mulder thoroughly turned on, but it didn't go any further. When he tried to slip his hand up inside the shirt he'd pulled free of Alex's pants, the younger man reacted in the way any well brought up co-ed would, he sat up, straightened his clothes and told Mulder it was time to go. 

"What?" Mulder panted, exactly like a recently landed and very expensive wild Atlantic salmon. 

"You heard me," Alex told him gathering up the coffee mugs. "Thady will be locking up the house soon and you have to walk all the way back in the dark. I'll get you a torch." 

"You bastard," Mulder muttered at Alex's retreating back. 

The smug, over the shoulder look the words drew, told Mulder that Alex hadn't yet exacted the full measure of his contrition. 

His solace was in the knowledge was that he wouldn't be the only one facing a night of lonely frustration. 

* * *

Undeterred, he was back, knocking on Alex's door at seven thirty the following morning. His host, dressed in a pair of faded plaid boxers and towelling robe, and suffering from a nasty case of 'bed head', trailed reluctantly across the living room to open up. 

"Morning..." Mulder began cheerfully, but the scowl reminded him that Alex never was, and never would be a morning person. 

"You have breakfast?" was all he needed to know. 

"Couldn't wait...came right over." 

"Huh..." he commented, going to the kitchen. 

Mulder followed him and found himself drawn into cooking breakfast. They worked together silently, he making toast while Alex brewed a large pot of tea and heated two iron pans. Into one went thick slices of bacon and sausages, into the other went whole mushrooms and halved tomatoes. When the meat was cooked he found a space in the first pan and cracked in four eggs, watching them carefully to make sure they stayed 'easy over' the way Mulder liked them. Taking out two warmed plates from the proofing oven, he filled them from the pans and placed them on the worktop. 

Mulder carried over the mugs of tea and plate of toast. They sat down opposite each other and began eating. 

"This is good," Mulder said, nodding to his plate. 

"Mmm." 

"You used to start the day with a cup of black coffee, if that." 

"Still do, mostly, but today I'm going out on the trawler. The crew's a man short." 

"How long will you be gone?" Mulder asked, irritated. 

"Hard to say. Could be ten hours, could be three days." 

"What?" 

"We've the latest equipment," he shrugged, philosophically, "but fishing is more about luck. And the weather." 

Mulder bristled with annoyance. There was no way he'd come all this distance to sit around twiddling his thumbs, at the mercy of the fickle Atlantic Ocean. 

"I thought you were the eManager?" 

"I am," Alex agreed. "I'm also the back up engineer and I go out on trawler on a two-weekly rotation or whenever they're down a crew member." 

Mulder kicked the information around for a minute or two. 

"I'm coming with you," he announced. 

Alex's sudden laugh caused him to choke, and Mulder jumped up to thump him soundly on the back. 

When he could speak again, Alex said with finality, "No way, Mulder." 

"Why not?" 

"There's no room for passengers. Space is tight and every man has to pull his weight, but more importantly it's too fucking dangerous out there. Seasoned fishermen are lost all the time. One stupid mistake and it could be us all." 

"I'm no novice. I know boats," Mulder told him. 

"Summer jaunts over from the Vineyard don't count, Mulder. This is real life." 

"Jesus, Krycek, get over it, will you?" told him, angrily. "There was nothing about the early life of Fox William Mulder worth resenting, and you probably know that better than anybody." 

The truth of the words wiped the sullen, grudging expression off Krycek's face, and left him feeling mean-spirited and ashamed. He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, reluctant to engage Mulder in eye contact. 

"Why are we fighting?" Mulder asked, his voice sounding weary and sad. He reached over and placed his hand on top on Krycek's. "I'm here because I need to be with you, Alex. I can't change what happened in the past, but I won't make the mistake again of pretending I can live without this." He grasped the hand tighter, until it almost hurt. 

"If it's changed for you, I need to know now. Just put me out of my fucking misery and send me on my way." 

Alex looked up at him, making no effort to hide his feelings. 

"How could it ever change?" he asked. "Fox Mulder is where I begin and where I end." 

Mulder's capacity for words failed him, so he brought Alex's hand to his lips and kissed it gently, then he stood and quickly moved to the other side of the countertop. Alex allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace. They clung to each other for a moment before Mulder aggressively sought the younger man's mouth. He groaned aloud as it opened under the assault and allowed him the intimate contact he craved. He could feel himself losing control as he pressed their bodies tight together against the resistance of the kitchen cupboards, and he could feel Alex's uninhibited response. 

The phone rang... 

Mulder's jean clad hip rubbed against Alex's crotch... 

The phone rang again... 

Alex's hips thrust forward to intensify the pleasure, and his hand found its way under Mulder's shirt... 

Remarkably, the third time the phone rang Alex heard it. Somewhere at the edge of what remained of his reasoning brain, a memory stirred. The crew of the 'Niaomh Blithn' were waiting for him down on the quay. He was already late. 

"Ugghh, Mulder," he groaned, pushing the other man away. "I've got to go..." 

Mulder looked at him disbelievingly. "No way, Alex..." he stated, pulling his lover back into the clinch. 

"Fuck sake, Mulder, do you think I want to go?" he asked, trying to get his body and his breathing under control. "I have to go...on the island you don't let people down." 

Mulder released him and stepped back, a look that said he wouldn't take no for an answer carved into his face. 

"I'm going." 

Alex shook his head in defeat. "Okay, okay, but I don't want to hear one complaint -" 

"Aye, aye, captain!" Mulder snapped to attention. 

"Oh shit," Alex groaned. "I'm going to get dressed. You'll find the gear we'll need in the utility room through there." He pointed to a door at the far end of the living room. "And you'd better clean up in here." Muttering to himself, he disappeared into the bathroom. 

* * *

  
 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Claire Dobbin


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